


Santana Has A Peanut Allergy And Brittany Dresses Up As One (alternatively: Titles Are Hard And I Am Lazy)

by lynnearlington



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-28
Updated: 2010-10-28
Packaged: 2017-10-20 13:38:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnearlington/pseuds/lynnearlington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brittany’s really good about making sure Santana doesn’t eat peanuts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Santana Has A Peanut Allergy And Brittany Dresses Up As One (alternatively: Titles Are Hard And I Am Lazy)

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for 2x05.

The first time it happens is right before high school. Brittany learns all kinds of new words like allergy, and dietary and epinephrine and even anaphylaxis - she can’t spell it but she definitely knows what it looks like. She also learns all kinds of new facial expressions on Santana. The one she learns first is pain. The one that takes her the longest to identify is fear. 

She doesn’t really understand how someone can be allergic or whatever to peanuts, but she sees the truth of it in the way Santana seizes up and her eyes go wide and the ice cream sundae cone from the vending machine at their middle school falls from her grasp to hit the tile. 

In that moment, when Santana is looking at her confused and desperate and so obviously in pain, Brittany feels more helpless than she usually does. Before she can act though, they’re surrounded by teachers and the lunch ladies and they’re whisking Santana away from her. 

Santana explains it all the next afternoon, snuggled under the covers of Santana’s bed. After that, at dinner, she learns more about it when Santana’s mom tells Brittany all about the things she can’t let Santana eat during school and Santana rolls her eyes as she stuffs pasta into her mouth. Then later, that night, when she talks to her parents she learns even more and she stops feeling so entirely clueless about the whole thing. She doesn’t feel better because the image of Santana in fear and pain is still vivid in her brain, but she feels like the more she knows about everything the less scary it will all be. 

Brittany’s really good about making sure Santana doesn’t eat peanuts. It’s weird because there are so many things Santana looks out for when it comes to Brittany that having their roles reversed in this small way is kind of strange. But by the time they’re in high school, Brittany likes the fact that she knows this one thing about Santana that few others know and that she can help her. She likes that she doesn’t feel like Santana does all the protecting all the time. 

So she makes sure she reads the ingredients of whatever food items Santana packs for lunch (since her mother stopped doing it years ago) and she checks the menus at restaurants (she doesn’t understand all the words, but she knows which ones are the bad ones) and even though Santana thinks she can “totally handle it” Brittany rips the peanut butter cookie out of Santana’s hands when she tries to eat it after dinner. 

It annoys Santana, who thinks the whole allergy thing is “utter bullshit”, but thankfully, they don’t have another “incident” for years. That is, until they do. 

It’s stupid, but they’re at a party and Brittany’s having a really good time. There’s a red plastic cup filled with some fruity concoction in her hand and she blinks at it as she tries to decide if it’s her third or fourth. She stops caring when a warm hand slides under her shirt at her back and stays there as Santana presses into her side. 

“Hey you,” Santana whispers, her lips brushing against Brittany’s shoulder. They’re standing in the kitchen which is mostly empty save for some couple in the corner near the back door making out against the wall. Brittany squints at them and tries to see if she knows who they are, but Santana scratches her nails lightly against the damp skin at Brittany’s back and her thoughts sort of derail. 

“Hey,” Brittany mumbles back, smiling at Santana and taking another sip of her drink. It tastes like too-sweet strawberries and the hint of another fruit Brittany can’t figure out. 

“Where’d you go?” Santana pouts at her, an adorable look on her usually scowling best friend. 

“Kitchen,” Brittany answers, bringing her free hand up to tug at the hem of Santana’s tank top, the material clinging to Santana’s overheated skin. 

Rolling her eyes, Santana lets out a little laugh and pulls away to walk towards the fridge at the wall. “Yeah, I see that.” 

“I was hot,” Brittany explains, cocking her hip against the kitchen island and watching Santana bend over to inspect the contents of the freezer. Santana’s always super nice to look. Brittany doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of the view. “What are you doing?” 

“Looking for something,” Santana throws over shoulder, reaching into the freezer and rummaging around. 

Brittany shrugs and takes another sip of her drink letting her gaze blink slowly at the way Santana’s hair falls forward and the back of her tank top rides up and thinks about all the things they did in Santana’s car before they got here. It’s really not helping get rid of the uncomfortable flush all over her body from dancing earlier. She really wants to dance again too. 

She looks over to the family room where she can just make out the swarm of bodies moving and grinding together to a low pulsing beat from a stereo system she knows is lined up against the far wall. The thought of setting her drink down and bouncing back into the room to find Mike barely passes completely through her mind before Santana is back in front of her, plucking her drink out of Brittany’s hand and linking their fingers. 

“Let’s go,” Santana commands, walking away and tugging Brittany with her, chugging the rest of Brittany’s fruity drink and chucking the empty plastic cup in a nearby trash can. 

“Where?” 

“Somewhere that’s not here,” Santana says absently, shooting a disgusted look at the kissing couple in the corner and pulling Brittany out of the kitchen and deeper into the house. 

They’re at Matt’s house, who despite transferring still holds McKinley parties for all his old friends. Matt was always nice like that. Brittany makes a note to thank him for being so awesome later. If she can find him later. Which, well, finding people at parties has never really been Brittany’s strong suit. 

Santana leads them to what she thinks is Matt’s dad’s office or something because it’s got an old looking desk and a bunch of really boring books on the walls and Brittany can’t really figure out why Santana would want to hang out here until she notices the huge leather couch along one wall. She can’t help the little bounce in her step and the smirk that spreads across her face as she realizes why they’re here. 

Sure enough, Santana’s got a smile on her face too as she turns around and walks backward towards the couch, still tugging Brittany’s arm. “I want you,” Santana whispers and Brittany’s stomach flips over. 

Brittany’s so unused to someone wanting her like Santana does. When it comes to sex it’s always Brittany doing the suggesting, Brittany climbing on top of someone, Brittany winking and smirking and whispering seductive confessions into ears. But with Santana it’s different. It’s Santana pulling her into dark corners, or mumbling affection into her ear, or sliding her fingers over Brittany’s skin during school, just subtle enough for no one to think twice about it. It’s an intoxicating feeling, more powerful than any notch she’s ever carved into her bedpost. 

Santana pushes her onto the couch and climbs on to her lap, her legs straddling Brittany’s hips. It’s then that Brittany finally notices the tub of ice cream Santana’s had cradled in the crook of her elbow this entire time. Santana’s fingers are tugging Brittany’s hair out of her ponytail with one hand and running nails over Brittany’s scalp, but Brittany’s entirely distracted by the ice cream, trying to blink through a haze of alcohol and arousal to see what kind it is. 

“You have ice cream,” Brittany mumbles, leaning forward. 

“Yup,” Santana nods, canting her hips down and bring her lips next to Brittany’s ears. “And I’m going to lick it off you.” 

A warm kiss is pressed against the skin below her ear and Brittany lets her eyes close against the sensation, worry about the ice cream gone for a moment. Santana’s mouth trails down her neck, sharp teeth scraping lightly as Brittany’s hands move to Santana’s thighs. 

“Take your shirt off,” Santana commands, pulling away and lifting the tub of ice cream up to pop the top of the container off. 

Brittany focuses a little. Of all the things she can’t concentrate on or remember, this is something she prides herself on never forgetting. “Are there nuts in that?” 

An eyebrow arches on Santana’s face and she smiles bemusedly at Brittany as she tosses the carton top to the side and pulls a spoon Brittany never saw her get out of her back pocket. “You’re talking about nuts, right now?” 

“Santana,” Brittany whines, grabbing the ice cream out of Santana’s grasp and narrowing her eyes. 

“Oh my God,” Santana says, shaking her head and snatching the ice cream back before Brittany can read the ingredients. “Loosen up. I haven’t had a reaction in years. I’m fine.”

“But,” Brittany starts to protest, but Santana reaches the hand still clutching the spoon forward and puts a finger against Brittany’s mouth to quiet her. 

“Shut up and let me eat ice cream off your hot body,” Santana orders with a smirk that never fails to send warmth straight to Brittany’s groin. 

Licking her lips, Brittany feels her whole being react to everything about the moment. The way Santana is looking at her, the way their bodies feel pressed together, the way Santana’s voice sounds as she tells Brittany what to do. She’s hot again and her palms itch and she knows she should be thinking about something else, but she can’t remember what it is. 

But then, Santana is digging her spoon into the ice cream and bringing it to her lips, sucking on the spoon in a way that is entirely distracting to Brittany for a variety of reasons. 

“Santana!” Brittany exclaims, sitting up on the couch a little and widening her eyes as Santana takes yet another spoon of ice cream into her mouth. 

“Relax,” Santana replies with a roll of her eyes as she leans over and presses their lips together. Santana’s lips are cold against her own and Brittany can taste the ice cream in Santana’s mouth and just a hint of her fruity drink from earlier. Santana pulls away to scoop more ice cream and hold it out to Brittany. “Live a little.” 

Brittany swallows, but keeps her lips closed and shakes her head at offer of ice cream, watching Santana’s face like a hawk, in fear. 

“Brittany,” Santana draws out. “Seriously? I’m offering to lick this off your entire body and you’re-,” Santana cuts off midstream and her eyes seem to go out of focus, the spoon in her hand dropping back into the carton. 

“S?” Brittany sits up more, wrapping her arms around Santana’s back and watching worry flicker across her face. “You okay?’ 

“I’m fine,” Santana gulps, detaching from Brittany and standing up. “I’m fine.” 

“Are your lips tingly?” 

“I’m fine,” Santana repeats, shaking her head and clutching a hand at her stomach. She sets the ice cream on the desk on the other side of the room and Brittany stands to follow. 

“Santana,” Brittany draws out, her voice shaking with worry. 

Santana twirls to face Brittany, her fingers tapping at her lips and eyes wide and Brittany knows exactly what’s happening. “S,” she starts. 

“I’m good,” Santana keeps insisting. “I’m good.” 

“No you’re not,” Brittany denies, shaking her head back in forth as she watches fear and pain flicker across Santana’s face. Her friend’s breathing turns shaky and that’s when Brittany realizes that she can’t just keep standing her arguing with the most stubborn person she’s ever met ever. “I’m going to go get your pen.” 

“I’m fine, I just need to lie down,” Santana counters, but Brittany can hear the rasp in her breath and she doesn’t stick around to convince Santana that she’s not fine. 

She gets outside the room and she heads to Matt’s bedroom down the hallway. It’s the first thing Santana always does when she gets to a party - find a place to stash her purse - Brittany knows how Santana operates like she knows a complicated dance step. It’s easy to trace and follow in her mind. Inside the purse is a small yellow pen shaped thing and Brittany clutches it in her hand as she makes her way back to her friend. 

She’s never had to use it though she’s been taught how to about fifty hundred bajillion times and she’s thought about having to do it just about as much if not more. But now her friend is going to die from eating ice cream or something and it’s all really serious and suddenly Brittany’s hand is shaking as she walks back into the office and she doesn’t know if she can punch this thing into Santana’s leg. 

On the couch, doubled over her stomach, Santana is panting for breath and Brittany’s worry gets swept away as her body just reacts to her friend in pain, striding across the room and kneeling down. 

“I got your pen, S,” Brittany murmurs soothingly, pushing Santana’s chest up so she can get to her outer thigh better. “I gotta do the thing.” 

Santana nods rapidly, but doesn’t seem capable of speech and fear coils back into Brittany’s stomach at the sight of it. Her palm feels sweaty where it’s holding the pen and she stares at the denim on Santana’s leg trying to get her arm to swing forward. 

She doesn’t know how long she’s been just staring in fear until a fist swings out to bump into her shoulder and Santana makes desperate motions Brittany recognizes to mean  _hurry the fuck_  up. So she does. She cocks her bicep back and jams the EpiPen into the outer part of Santana’s thigh just like she was always taught, holding it there for a few seconds. 

Santana winces when it happens, her whole body jumping in a way that makes Brittany feel absolutely and completely terrible. 

She kind of imagined she’d be calm for this, but she’s kind of freaking out because Santana’s got a completely terrified look on her face and she just jammed this weird needle thing into her friend’s leg and it’s not over yet because they have to go to the hospital and she kind of hates that she totally  _failed_  her job. She’s supposed to protect Santana and she failed. 

“Britt,” Santana says hoarsely, pulling the EpiPen out of her hands and setting it on the couch. “You okay?” 

Brittany nods because she  _wants_  to be okay, but when she takes a deep breath, it’s shaky and she notices that she’s crying. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Santana whispers, shifting to stand and looking down at Brittany. The fear from earlier is gone and Brittany spends a moment to wonder how Santana got rid of it so fast. “We have to go to the hospital though.” 

“Yeah,” Brittany agrees, jumping to her feet and focusing on something way more important. “It’s going to be okay.” 

“Promise,” Santana says, grabbing Brittany’s hand and leaning into her side. “It’s going to be okay.” 

And it is okay. They get out of the party and Mike, who is mercifully sober in the living room, drives them to the hospital and sits with Brittany while Santana gets checked out. They do whatever it is doctors do to fix Santana and their parents show up and take care of the rest and everything is mostly okay. 

Brittany gets a stern talking to from Santana’s parents, wondering how their daughter possibly managed to have a reaction, but she doesn’t know how to explain what happened without getting them both in trouble. Eventually, when they finally remember how stubborn and reckless Santana is, they calm down and apologize to Brittany, Mrs. Lopez giving her a side armed hug as she whispers that it’s all going to be okay and that it wasn’t her fault. Brittany can’t do much but smile and nod in agreement. 

But she doesn’t sleep easy that night, nightmares of a worse outcome keeping her up until dawn. Usually, when she’s scared, she just tells Santana and trusts her friend to chase the demons away - sometimes it’s with cheesy 80s movies, sometimes impromptu dance parties, and sometimes (the best times) steamy make out sessions that last for hours. With Santana in a hospital across town and the memory of vanilla sundae ice cream in her mind all she can do is watch time tick by on her clock and hope morning comes faster. 

\--

The next day, Santana is flipping through a magazine, sprawled over the couch in Brittany’s basement. Brittany’s on the floor, her back against the couch and her head resting against Santana’s hipbone as she clicks through the channels on the TV, ever so often glancing at Santana out of the corner or her eye. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” Santana says after a few moments, tossing her magazine onto the ground nosily and sighing. 

Brittany turns a confused pout onto her friend. “I wasn’t looking at you.” 

Santana points an accusatory finger at her. “Stop looking at me like that too.” 

“I’m just looking,” Brittany mumbles, turning back to the TV. 

She hears Santana sigh again and shift off the couch until she’s sitting next to Brittany, their shoulders and arms pressed together. “I’m okay,” Santana murmurs, turning her head to press a warm kiss to Brittany’s shoulder. 

Brittany wants to be brave and she doesn’t want to care and sometimes she just really wants to know how Santana makes it look so easy not be scared most of the time. “I know.” 

“Thanks for helping me,” Santana says, finding Brittany’s hand and tangling their fingers together. “You were good.” 

“You shouldn’t have eaten that ice cream,” Brittany replies, her free hand plucking at the bracelet around Santana’s wrist. “I shouldn’t have let you.” 

“I was drunk,” Santana explains. “And horny and pissed as hell that a peanut allergy was going to stop me from eating that ice cream off your abs. It was the only ice cream Matt had and I thought it would be fine.” 

Brittany chuckles. “It would have been hot.” 

“I know, right?” Santana laughs, but then her face goes serious. “I’m sorry I scared you, I hate this stupid allergy.” 

“I wasn’t scared,” Brittany denies, biting her lip. 

“Yeah you were,” Santana says softly. “It’s okay.” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t protect you,” Brittany mumbles, bowing her head down as she continues to play with the small silver chain around Santana’s wrist. 

“That’s not your job,” Santana insists. 

Brittany turns to look at her friend, Santana’s face is shaped into this soft smile that Brittany loves because it means all kinds of things Santana will never say like  _I love you._  It’s a face she usually only gets when they’re alone, but lately it’s been slipping out at school and at parties and around people. She traces a finger down Santana’s cheek. “Isn’t it?” 

Santana doesn’t say anything, but her eyes dart back and forth over Brittany’s face and she sees her neck move in a swallow. Santana’s grip on Brittany’s hand tightens, and her mouth drops open, but still no words come out. So Brittany saves Santana the trouble of having to talk and leans forward to press their mouths together. 

“I think I have some nut-free ice cream in the freezer here,” Brittany whispers when they part. 

“See,” Santana says, shifting to trail a line of kisses down Brittany’s jaw bone. “This is why you’re my best friend.” 

Santana suddenly stands up, reaching her hand up to help Brittany join her and soon they’re skipping into the kitchen and Brittany’s tugging open the freezer while Santana rummages around in the drawer for spoons. 

“Are you going to Puck’s Halloween party?” Santana asks absently and Brittany glances at her friend as she tries to find the ice cream among the mountain of items her parents have packed into the freezer. 

“If you are,” she answers, pushing aside a frozen pizza and peering around it. 

“What are you going to dress up as?” 

“A duck,” Brittany says definitively. She’s been planning this outfit for months, but in the pause that follows her answer she can almost hear Santana roll her eyes. 

“You can’t go as a duck.” 

“Why not?” Brittany asks, finally finding the ice cream and standing up from the freezer. 

“Uh, because that is not either slutty or scary so what’s the point?” Santana’s sitting on the counter when Brittany turns away from the fridge and she goes to set the ice cream down, coming to stand between Santana’s legs. 

“But I like ducks,” Brittany argues. 

“Slutty or scary,” Santana insists, pulling Brittany’s hips in with her knees and looping her arms around Brittany’s necks. “Either wear your Cheerios uniform or think of the scariest thing you can think of and go as that.” 

“Fine,” Brittany pouts. “What are you going as?” 

“Secret,” she whispers, pulling Brittany’s body in closer and smiling at her. 

“You’re mean,” Brittany replies, frowning. 

“Yup, sure am,” Santana laughs, pressing a kiss to Brittany’s forehead. “But you love me anyway,” she says into the skin under her lips. Brittany hears the insecurity in Santana’s voice without having to see her face. 

“Sure do,” Brittany says cheerfully, smiling. 

“So what are you going as since you can’t be a duck?” Santana pulls away and pops the lid to the ice cream sitting next to her, picking a spoon up and dipping it into the carton. 

“Secret,” Brittany mocks, eying the ice cream and trying to blink away the memories of the last time they did this. 

“Bitch,” Santana jokes, laughing as she puts her spoon into her mouth and licks the ice cream away. She presses their lips together as soon as she swallows and Brittany’s stomach tightens at the cool warmth of Santana’s mouth and the taste of vanilla left on her tongue. She can feel Santana smile into the kiss and Brittany feels warm and secure and so happy that her best friend is here and okay. 

\--

When Kurt asks her, about a week later, what she’s going to be for Halloween, her answer is easy. 

“I’m going as a peanut allergy,” she replies with enthusiasm. 

Her costume is going to be totally terrifying.  


  
  
  



End file.
